


a life for me, not them

by fallenidol_453



Category: 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Various Composers/Attia & Chouquet
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chance Meetings, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Grief/Mourning, Gunplay, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, International Fanworks Day 2021, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, do not repost to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenidol_453/pseuds/fallenidol_453
Summary: Olympe du Puget and five possible relationships in five different timelines.And, maybe, a life for herself.
Relationships: Charles X de France/Olympe du Puget, Lazare de Peyrol/Olympe du Puget, Past Ronan Mazurier/Olympe du Puget, Ronan Mazurier/Olympe du Puget, Solène Mazurier/Olympe du Puget
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. ronan/olympe I: canon ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildandWhirling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/gifts).



> I do not own 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille; all rights belong to its respective creators.
> 
> The posted pairings and tags apply to the miniseries as a whole, not for each individual chapter. Tags will be added or subtracted as new chapters are posted.
> 
> I am primarily drawing on the original French production because it gives me the most leeway, but for others (such as the Charles X de France/Olympe pairing) I will be drawing on the 2018 Japanese production.
> 
> Happy International Fanworks Day 2021!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: grief/mourning, canon-typical violence, canonical character death, blood and injury, canon compliant

Olympe hears nothing but her own screams as she watches Ronan crumple to the ground. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he fell, blood from his bullet wounds blooming red all over his shirt and yellow coat.

She's at his side in moments, frantic prayers to God spilling out of her mouth. Let the other people storm the Bastille, let them celebrate, but Ronan--Ronan--

Dear God, save him--save him--

But God is not listening to her prayers. He grows paler by the minute as his blood stains her clothes. Too soon, she feels him die in her arms.

"No--no--Ronan--! No!"

She grasps Ronan's face in her hands and shakes him, imploring him to wake, but only blood trickles feebly out of his lifeless mouth.

Why did God take him from her? This brash man, who had infuriated and vexed her beyond belief while stoking the bright flames of wild love in her heart, had consumed her with a passion she had thought only existed in romances. 

Now he was gone forever. Another victim of the Revolution, a shooting star who had flared out too soon.

She holds him close one more time, cuddled tight against him, imagining that he’s just sleeping. Unconscious. Soon he’ll wake, and...

"Mademoiselle--"

"No--!"

Olympe tries to struggle against whoever has grabbed her, but she has no fight left. Her cries are ugly and keening as someone finally takes Ronan out of her embrace and bears him away. She reaches out for him for the last time, but her sight is so blurry with tears that she may as well have been grasping for smoke.

Who would ever love her like he did? No other man would compare to him. No one.

She would never forget him for as long as she lived.


	2. lazare/olympe: new old meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: chance meetings, alternate universe - canon divergence

They hadn’t anticipated meeting outside of France. It’s a wonder they recognize each other at all; their interactions being limited to mere seconds-long sightings in the palace and having no physical contact with each other. No words or letters had been exchanged between them either.

But here they are, the ones who have fled the shadow of the guillotine and the wrath of the people. Neither knows how the other escaped, just that they  _ did _ .

Their old lives are lost to the Revolution, swept away by blood. Never again will they experience the glamour and golden ruination of the Ancien Régime.

But perhaps another kind of connection can be forged between them. A new chance to begin anew, to get to know each other without stringent courtly rules or duties to both the royal family and France.

An exchange of names is only the first step toward a potential future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing but the utmost respect to anyone who ships this and manages to write excellent content.


	3. ronan/olympe II: eat dirt in the countryside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: post-canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, somebody lives/not everyone dies
> 
> A very pleasant evening to WildandWhirling, whose help with this chapter was invaluable.

Olympe’s father is reluctant to allow her to marry Ronan. Not because he had helped storm the Bastille and not because he was a common farmer from the countryside.

He had wanted Olympe to have the best life had to offer, and that included a happy and fulfilling relationship with a man she loved. She and Ronan had known each other for barely a month, and usually--though she did not tell her father this--in hasty moments. 

(She does not tell her father about her and Ronan’s sexual encounter in the church.)

He worries his daughter is throwing her life away for a complete stranger.

But Olympe is persistent. She would do anything for Ronan, and he would do anything for her. With him at her side, she can overcome anything. They survived the terrors of the revolution, and because of that, both feel they and their love can survive anything thrown at them.

Finally, her father agrees.

In hindsight, his reluctance may have been a warning.

-

The Beaucé looked lovely the closer she and Ronan arrived. The farmers working the fields in the spring and summer were picturesque, the landscape reminding her of the peaceful Petit Trianon.

It’s another thing entirely to see the farmers of Ronan’s home village up close. Olympe had heard whispers of widespread famine and hunger in Versailles, had glimpsed the gaunt faces of the poor in the streets of Paris, and now she is face to face with it. It’s a haunting visage of gaunt faces and thin bodies, clad in everything they own, overtaxed and underfed.

What would they think of her, a rich woman from Paris?

-

The married life falls to shambles within weeks. The hot passions that had blazed between them during the revolution fizzle out as they struggle to find things in common. They become strangers as time goes on, barely speaking to each other.

She has no aptitude for farming, or the village culture. While the villagers all speak French, a handful speak Breton, a language that is alien to her ears. _Ronan_ knows it, but there are times where he doesn’t offer to translate to her what’s being said. It’s awkward watching him and others laugh at some odd joke or a story when she has no context to what is being said.

And as much as she would like to help look after the village children, many of them have their own chores and cannot be spared to play with her, or listen to the stories the royal children loved so much. The closest interaction she gets is with the wealthier village families, but their parents expect her to educate their children, not play with them. Interacting with them barely eases the isolation she feels.

-

After one too many bad harvests, encroaching rumors of peasant uprisings against seigneurs, food shortages, and knowing with absolute certainty that her marriage is over, Olympe has had enough.

She wants to go back to Paris.

But how would she accomplish that?


	4. comte d'artois/olympe: a kept woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly based upon the 2018 Japanese performance, with a mild dash of French.
> 
> Either way, what a way to push me out of my comfort zone and create a new ship tag am I right?
> 
> tags: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Gunplay, Face-Sitting, Implied Sexual Content

What the Comte d’Artois is offering is repulsive. She would be betraying the very part of her that loathes him, the part that shrinks away when he harasses her. And she’d be betraying Ronan by leaving him without explanation.

But in the chaos of the year 1789, Olympe knows it to be a stable option. And it’s a way to leave France unharmed. She’ll stay alive at the cost of her dignity.

But she refuses to let this be a one-sided deal. She calmly aims the gun Ronan gave her at Artois’s face.

“I want my father and sister to come with us.”

“There won’t be enough room—"

Her hand jerks and she steadies her grip by holding the gun with both hands. It’s not loaded, but it’s the threat that counts.

“They come with us or I won’t come to your bed.”

“Y-Yes.” Artois replies. Olympe hears him take a step back and relishes the squeak in his voice. “They will come with us.”

-

The night to leave arrives. Her father and sister are nowhere to be found among the chaos of last-minute preparations and haste to leave under the cover of darkness. Artois cajoles her into riding with him, using every bit of his loathsome charm to keep her distracted with loading her belongings and helping her into the carriage.

It’s empty.

She hopes until the very last moment that she’ll see her family, that they will magically step inside the carriage and sit with her and be her shield against sharing the same space with Artois.

Her naïve hopes are dashed when they do not.

She should have shot Artois in the face when she had the gun pointed at him.

-

She barely remembers the first night in his bed. Heavily drugged on his aphrodisiac, she had been as pliant as a doll. It had been a better option than resisting and fighting.

But some part of her drugged mind was still aware. Aware of Artois groping her through her shift, aware of his mouth and hands on her bare skin, aware of how he relished believing he was going to be the first man she was going to have sex with. She’s slightly grateful she and Ronan had had sex in the church. She at least knows what was going to happen next.

She doesn’t register any pain when Artois finally begins fucking her. Had he gotten her wet like Ronan did during their frantic and desperate first time? Or did the aphrodisiac dull her senses enough to not feel anything?

-

Little by little, she takes less and less of the aphrodisiac. Just to see if Artois lives up to his boasts of god-like sexual prowess. She pretends he is someone else every time they fuck: Ronan, his sister, even Lazare de Peyrol or the Queen.

She does not scream Artois’s name like he’d claim to make other women do.

Did that mean he was just a man, and not a god?

-

On a stormy night in autumn, Olympe tries something different.

She manages to push him back against the mattress and climb onto his lap without revealing the gun she’s concealed. He’s excited at first, he loves to watch her ride him, though confusion soon dawns on his face as she shifts higher until she’s straddling his chest.

“What are you—”

Olympe produces the gun and holds it calmly against his forehead.

“Isn’t it time I be rewarded for serving a god like yourself?” she hissed.

“Do I not satisfy you enough?” he asked coyly. “Or reward you enough?”

All the gold, jewels, or pretty outfits in the world pale in comparison that she’s very rarely felt sexual pleasure in his bed. She presses the gun barrel harder against his head, and tries to not jump as she hears a clap of thunder outside.

“It is always about you when you fuck me. Pleasure _me_ instead.”

She feels him stiffen under her. Why should he, a Prince of the Blood, take orders from her?

But it’s not like he has a choice when she’s aiming the gun at him. At least it isn’t loaded.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction in the darkness of his bedchamber. Olympe must rely on his touch alone to guess what might happen next: will he agree to her demands? Or will he become enraged and punish her? The tension between them is palpable.

Minutes pass. Then—

His hands are warm against the thin material of her shift as he grabs her hips and slowly nudges her forward. She angles the gun at his temple as he hikes up the hem of her shift and guides her to his mouth.

His breath is warm as she feels him tentatively lick at her cunt. This is not something he enjoys doing, but a dark part of Olympe’s mind considers it a personal payback for everything he’s made her do. She throws the hem of her shift over his head as she finally begins to feel some semblance of arousal and begins to buck against his mouth; he doesn’t deserve to watch her come undone.

He tries to make her stay when he’s done and she climbs off of him, taking the gun with her.

She goes back to the privacy of her own bed instead.

He can take care of his aching cock himself.

-

Just when she thinks the nightmare of being his mistress is never-ending, it stops.

She’s not in the same room with him when he finally expires. It had been a miracle she didn’t contract cholera like he did.

There’s an odd sense of both emptiness and elation within her heart now.

Elation, because Artois is gone and she no longer has to be his mistress. The decades of misery are over.

Emptiness, because she is alone in Italy with no support. Everyone she knew in France is very likely dead and cannot help her. She never found out the whereabouts of her father and sister either.

But—she knows she can survive this. It’s only a setback. All she has to do is wait for the cholera outbreak here in Görz to pass and find a way to leave.

Life goes on, after all.


End file.
